


Late-night memories

by mario3141



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Dooku being a dick as usual, F/M, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Grievous needs a hug, Grievous's repair droid is a bastard, Memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 10:27:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29242050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mario3141/pseuds/mario3141
Summary: Grievous finally gets a break to go back to his castle and process the past.
Relationships: Grievous | Qymaen jai Sheelal/Ronderu lij Kummar
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7





	Late-night memories

It was a long day of light sabers and blaster bolts for Grievous, who was now fleeing back home in a fighter after the destruction of yet another ship at the hands of the Jedi. He may be superior in many ways, but he still does get tired, and the soft waves of passing hyperspace were soothing on the eyes.

The sound of an activating hologram broke the general's train of thought; it was another transmission from Dooku, most definitely back to scold him for whatever didn't meet his impossible standards this time. He growled and activated the hologram.

"Yes, Count?" he answered with a lightly frustrated tone.

"These recent failures are not up to our standard, general. Lord Sidious demands, more effective results."

Tired, defeated, and missing an arm, Grievous just growled and closed the transmission. He was not dealing with Dooku's beratings right now, much less before he even got back to his castle. 

He pulled into the shuttle bay doors and dismounted the fighter, pushing past a bodyguard droid at the entrance to his lair. Entering the dimly lit halls quieted his mind, only the monochrome corridors ahead, allowing his mind to wander once again.

Stalking down the corridor, he heard his pet Gor roar from down the hall in his chambers, the way he always did when the general returned home. He looked up as the door in front of him opened, and the roggwart rushed forward to greet him, lying down just in front of him with a little huff.

"You must be hungry, Gor," he said idly as he sat down in front of the creature. "I'll get you a bantha as soon as I can." 

"Look who's decided to come home," the repair droid piped up rather loudly from behind him, startling him slightly.

"What did I say about being so noisy?" Grievous said as he turned to the accursed sass-bot who just so happened to be the only one able to repair him. He strode past it, headed for his control room.

"did you lose yet another fight? do you need me to call Dooku to give you some more training?" the droid said mockingly, but its insolence was only met with a growl, no amount of cybernetics would make this horrible rust bucket pleasant to be around.

He arrived at the control room and surveyed his cameras out of habit, making sure everything was the same as usual. Once he was satisfied that things were as they should be, he called for the droid.

"I don't have all day, droid," he said irritatedly, sitting back as his chair reclined and moved back into position for repairs.

"Says you," the mechanic declared, detaching the damaged arm from where it connected to his shoulder. "Do you ever do anything other than order droids around and get scrapped by Jedi?"

"I will have you scrapped," the cyborg retorted, coughing for a moment after speaking.

"Would you hold still for one second? Besides, I'm the only one who can put you back together," it mocked as it attached the replacement arm, moving it with one of its mechanical claws so it could weld on the other side. "I do wonder why you still even have lungs."

Grievous just growled in response, getting up as soon as the droid let go of him. He stalked down the hall to his own chambers, making sure the droid was gone before pressing the tiles in their order to open the door.

He sat down on the bed in the corner of the room, which was really more of a slab as it had nothing in the way of padding, and picked up the respirator that attached to his faceplate. He turned it on and took a deep breath, letting the warm, humid air soothe his lungs as he laid back, staring up at the ceiling. 

Maybe if he were a better warrior he wouldn't be here, a gutsack in an artificial body just serving as an errand boy for a political faction he didn't care about, in the middle of a galactic war. Or if he had known who to trust, what to do, where to go... or maybe if he hadn't been the best, he would have lived a simple life, on his homeworld with his own people. His friends, even his late wife...

Ronderu Lij Kummar, the woman who captured his heart, whom he could never see again. A familiar weight set into his chest as he thought of her, the way she fought, the fierceness in her eyes as she struck down their enemies.

Had Grievous still had lips, he would have smiled at the memory of their meeting. He recalled in vivid detail the day when she had aided him against that Mumuu he faced, how he felt when they finally struck the beast down, hauling the creature back to the Shrupak temple, the rejoicing of the tribe at the feast.

He had long since allowed his cybernetics to power down as he thought of the pleasant memories, eyes closing, drifting off into the first sleep he got in far too long.

The general didn't often dream, even less did he remember them, but quite often did he find his sleep interrupted and his heart rate accelerated. This was no different, and as his cybernetics powered up again, he removed the respirator and sat up. 

Meditation was one of the few things keeping Grievous in a stable mental state, which he took very seriously. All he had left was his mind, after all.

He left the room and walked to where he kept his "trophies" of the Jedi he had killed, although for him they were more like memories, each one held a story of a life he had taken.

The general knew quite well that lives weren't something to take lightly. He wasn't oblivious to the fact that every Jedi he defeated was a person, with feelings and a life. They were misguided, they could not be trusted, and he could not allow their error to destroy anyone else, to create men like him who lived lives of tragedy and revenge.

He picked up a small gold bracelet he had on one of the display tables, just looking at it as it sat in his mechanical palm. He could not recall who it belonged to, but he studied it, looking closely at its details. Sight was not his best sense, but he would not give up his eyes, and they were good enough to fight.

A few minutes passed as he stood lost in thought before he set the bracelet down, making his way to another room; this one behind a more complex door with tiles that had to be pressed in order. As the door opened, there stood a statue of his beloved, holding out her sword victoriously.

He sat down in front of it, as he had many nights before, looking up at her face in the stone carved by his own hands, every detail meticulously etched. Eyes closed, he thought of her, of her final battle.

The Yam'rii showed no mercy; they had no regard for Kaleesh lives, they only acknowledged them to try to use them as slaves.

He thought back to that precipice, where he had been thrown back, fighting off two Yam'rii, but his mind was not on his opponents. He watched as the insectoids crossed swords with her, fighting off four enemies. She moved with such grace that it almost looked like a dance, dodging and swinging and blocking with meticulous precision.

But she could not fight them off.

She raised her arm to strike, but her opponent was too quick. Her choked gasp rang through the air. He could hear the blade rip through her side as the alien thrust it forward, but as he fought off his own pursuers it was too late for him to aid her.

The instant felt like eternity as his eyes locked with hers, that instant he would never forget. Her eyes held no fear, no pain, only a look of sorrow, a certain kind of melancholy that cut straight through his heart with more force and sharpness than any knife could.

They took her away from him. Away from their people, her home, the ones who needed her. They threw her off the precipice, into the sea like she was nothing, where he could never hope to find her, what was left of her, all he had of her.

He stood up, letting his hand just barely touch the side of the statue's face before turning and walking back to his chambers, wondering what she'd think of him now if she were here.

**Author's Note:**

> this is one of my first actual fics, hope you enjoy my venting through a robot


End file.
